


The (Love) Mission

by sunshinetina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Funny, German National Team, Jerome as Cupid, Love Confessions, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinetina/pseuds/sunshinetina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jérôme Boateng is Cupid. And his grand mission is to bring six couples together. But, as always, nothing is as simple as he initially thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started it as a good and simple one-shot, buuuuut it would be a bit longer. And I am not really happy with it, but there we go.
> 
> Based on this prompt: http://thesilverwitch.livejournal.com/31896.html?thread=442008#t442008 & kiiiiiinda on this one: http://thesilverwitch.livejournal.com/31896.html?thread=451992#t451992 (thanks Lord, since I had trouble to think of someone for Boateng). ;d
> 
> Yes, alright, I am out. (Don't judge me too harsh, bitte.) ;/

Jérôme rolled his eyes and arranged his wings, shuffling a bit. He puffed but still nodded, trying his best to sharpen his ears and not yawn upon the n-th lecture by Pep.

 

‘Understood?’

 

‘I wish I haven’t.’

 

‘Usually, indeed, you don’t, Jérôme,’ Pep folded his arms across his chest, ‘But, really, your promotion depends on this mission. Do this and you would be free afterwards. No more lecturing by me or Jogi, and you would live a happy and quiet life.’

 

Jérôme threw him a suspicious look and sighed loudly, waving with his hands, ‘Fine. Alright. Say it and it’s done.’

 

-

 

Well, maybe _Say it and it’s done_ wasn’t the best approach to this exact mission. Let’s start it differently.

 

Jérôme Boateng is Cupid. Literally. Yes, Cupid – the one with the big furry wings and sharp arrow with a heart on its end. And yes, if you are struck by it, you fall in love with the nearest person. But Jérôme was the moodiest Cupid of them all: usually, he struck random people for the sport and then they were doomed to fall in love with all the wrong possibilities around, which earned Jérôme the laugh of his life and the hospitalising of Pep’s.

 

So, yes, Jérôme Boateng is Cupid. And for the first time ever he was destined to do something he doesn’t want to: to _really_ bring two people together. It would have been great if it was just a couple – for example, those two… (He looked at the scrambled names on his paper.) Ah, yes, Lukas Podolski and Bastian Schweinsteiger. The first couple in his list. If it was just them, it would have been fine. Plus, looking at them from afar, they already seemed just a half-step away from jumping on each other, fiercely kissing, and… Yes, ok, details.

 

But, of course, no. Jogi and Pep just _had_ to give him a thousand couples. Well, maybe not a _thousand_ thousand, but everything which preoccupied Jérôme’s mind with a number above two was a thousand.

 

So, there he was – drinking his third coffee, trying to act nonchalantly (failing miserably at it, as the waitress eyed him suspiciously) and staring at the two men several tables away from him. He sharpened his ears.

 

‘Come on, Basti, it would be fun, though. Just you, me, and Louis. He wanted to scuba-dive for so long...’

 

‘For so long, he just wanted his father to be next to him, Luki. Not to scuba-dive and other bullshit.’

 

‘Well, alright, maybe _I_ am the one who wants it,’ Bastian laughed wholeheartedly and Lukas blushed a bit, stirring his coffee with milk, ‘ _Bitte_.’

 

Jérôme rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. _Those two are pathetic_ , he thought _, and it would be so damn easy to make them fall in love with each other, because I won’t have to do anything else but open their eyes. If all the couples are the same, I’d be home by seven and would catch the game with a beer in hand, agh…_

 

He approached them and purposely tripped over his own feet, almost landing on their table, but supporting himself on both their shoulders.

 

‘So, so sorry. It happens, when I think about too many things,’ Jérôme smirked to himself, noticing how both their facial expressions soften upon his touch, ‘Have a brilliant day, full with love.’

 

He walked away, taking his cupidphone out, checking the results of his small mission.

 

‘Um… Luki?’ Lukas lifted his eyes up at Bastian, redder than he would ever think he was capable of being. Bastian bit his lips and chuckled, ‘Is this the real reason why you want us three to be together? I mean, to _scuba-dive_ together, not like _be_ toget-… I mean… _Gott_!’

 

Lukas grinned and stretched his hand over Bastian’s, brushing his fingers along the other man’s knuckles. Bastian’s turn to flush red and he melted into a huge smile, eyes focused on Lukas’s.

 

‘I am getting a divorce,’ Bastian’s eyes widened but he was still smiling, like something (someone) has _made_ him smile without a stop. He was looking like a complete idiot, he was sure of it. He just nodded and Lukas continued, ‘We have already started the procedures. Monica is not pretentious, you know her. Won’t make a huge fuss out of it. And she promised me I will get to see Louis often enough.’

 

Bastian nodded again, looking at Lukas’s fingers, drawing circles on his hand.

 

‘Good. Louis is the only one who matters.’

 

‘Not really.’

 

‘Well, apart from you, of course,’ Bastian chuckled but Lukas shook his head, just as stupidly grinning as Bastian was.

 

‘You really can’t think of the other person who means the world to me?’

 

Bastian was dumbfounded for a second, harshly biting his lip to blood, and Lukas sighed, melting in another smile and his hand reached out for Bastian’s cheek, and Jérôme thought: _Ok, now tell him you love him…_ And then someone shouted.

 

‘Ayyyyy, what a pleasant surprise!’ both men turned around, backing off from each other, then looking at the interrupter with wide eyes, as if they have been caught doing something obnoxious. The tall man, with a goofy smile and sparkling green-blue eyes clapped his hands enthusiastically, talking loudly, ‘No, go on, kiss. I wouldn’t mind. Do whatever you would do, as if I am not here.’

 

‘Thomas…’

 

But Thomas just took a chair and sat down, hands between his thighs, and grinned idiotically at both of them. Then rolled his eyes.

 

‘Come ooooon, go on! Spread the love!’

 

‘Thomas, what are you doing here?’ his smile froze upon Bastian’s question and he pouted, shrugging.

 

‘I don’t know, Basti, it’s just that… Strange. Yes, it is strange. I mean, good strange but… strange.’

 

‘What is so strange, Thomas?’ Lukas sighed, giving up, then patted Thomas’s back. The younger man pouted even more.

 

‘Both Miro and Mario are back from Italy. And it’s strange, you know, having both of them here again. As in the good old times.’

 

Lukas looked softly at the smiling at him Bastian. They both leaned at Thomas. Another man approached them soon and the moment when Thomas turned around, widened his eyes and exclaimed _Miro, how did you find me?_ , Jérôme stuck out his tongue in deep concentration and measured up before shooting his arrow. But he just didn’t calculate it thoroughly as some other man came in-between, out of absolutely nowhere, and Jérôme tried his best to shoot again but the two arrows hit both men and Jérôme was basically fucked.

 

‘Mario?’ Thomas stood up and smiled shyly first at Mario, then at Miro, both of them standing up in front of the goofy man, with dumb grins on their faces. And Jérôme mentally cursed himself, looking at his list. Alright, he should have made Miroslav Klose fall in love in – or better, _realise_ his love for – Thomas Müller. Not, for God’s sake, to make _both_ Miroslav Klose _and_ Mario Gómez declare their love for the younger man.

 

So, basically, Jérôme couldn’t get Lukas and Bastian confess their love for each other, and now there was a love triangle forming up. Jérôme looked at his list and sighed. Marco Reus and Mario Götze, Manuel Neuer and Christoph Kramer. He clicked his tongue. How, on Earth, was he supposed to bring those together, when they lived basically miles and miles apart? Jérôme sighed, looking at the utterly messed up situation before himself, and realised that no, this mission was not like the others. And he definitely needed help. (No other reason to need his fellow Cupid by the name of Robert, right? Just to help.) Jérôme nodded to himself, murmuring that he could do it, he could bring all those pathetic fools together, and then… oh, cocktails, oh, beach, oh… Pep calling. _Fuck_.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

 

Jérôme’s mind was running in full circles, trying to distract himself from Pep’s threats, when the bright bulb appeared over his head and he grinned (not melted, no) at Robert. He was thiiiis close to telling Robert he loved him for his brilliant idea, but somehow he knew his tongue would get stuck at the explanation for his love. So, he decided to beam smiles after smiles at the other Cupid.

 

‘You could really do that for me?’

 

‘I can try, yeah,’ Robert chuckled quietly and Jérôme turned around to check his back for a Cupid arrow. Gulped harshly upon realising how stupid he might have looked, ‘After all, arranging a call or two between Nordrhein-Westfalen and Bavaria won’t be such a huge deal.’

 

‘I would be forever grateful.’

 

‘But you know that a phone-call doesn’t count for confessing your love. You know Pep’s rules.’

 

‘But if one of them says _I love you_ over the line and the other responds and-…’

 

‘Nope. Still a kiss is necessary.’

 

Jérôme pouted, then sensed his tanned cheeks getting on fire upon remembering one drunk party night. He was slightly um… treated, and Robert was beautiful. Fine, even when Jérôme was absolutely sober, Robert was beautiful, but that’s not the moral of the story. It is the fact that Jérôme still clearly remembered how he pressed his forehead at Robert’s and breathed in the other Cupid’s scent, and thought he was getting more drunk with each second. (He might have told Robert he would do things to him, but Robert pretended he didn’t remember a thing from the previous night. Maybe it was for the better, despite Jérôme’s disappointment.)

 

‘Ready?’ Robert pressed the button for loudspeaker and sat unbelievably close to Jérôme, who gulped rather loudly. Brilliant. Not only he had to wait for those lovebirds to arrange themselves a meeting to declare their never-ending love, but he had to do it with Lewandowski right next to him. Not a biggie.

 

_Hmmm?_

Jérôme turned to check the number dialed. Manuel Neuer. He grabbed his cupidphone to take notes.

 

_Hey, Manu, up yet?_

The man on the other side laughed and probably stood up, shuffling, _Hey, blue eyes. How are you?_

Jérôme and Robert looked at each other, then rolled their eyes.

 

There was a catchy chuckle and Manuel responded to it with a deep sigh, _So-so. Missing you._

_Don’t tell me you miss my scolding._

_You know I find you irresistible when angry._

Manuel was probably smiling, Jérôme guessed.

 

_You just couldn’t resist it, could you? Getting a yellow against Hamburger, just like I did?_

_What can I say? I always follow your steps, idol._

_That’s not the only thing of mine you like to follow._

_It’s not my fault you have a god-like ass._

 

They both laughed and Jérôme beamed in a satisfied smile, ‘Those two would be easy. Just a meeting and they would be all over each other.’

 

_But I meant it, Manu. I really miss you._

_You could always come to Munich._

_Or you to Mönchengladbach._

_Oh, Chris…_ Manuel sighed, _You know it’s not that easy._

_It wasn’t difficult in Brazil._

There was a silence. Both Jérôme and Robert leaned forward, as if expecting the turn-out of the events from a Latin American soap-opera.

 

_I just-…_

_I want you, Manuel._

 

For a second, Jérôme wondered what it would be like if he was on Manuel’s place and someone was telling him he wanted him. Robert shuffled right next to him, brushing his elbow over his arm, and Jérôme gulped, answering himself the question. He would be sooo…

 

 _Hmpf…_ yes, well, Manuel’s response kinda revealed Jérôme’s loss of any kind of thoughts, _Christoph, don’t do this._

_Why not? Because you don’t want me?_

_Chr-…_

_Oh, yes, of course. Lahm is there. Even Müller, who is free now, without Klose and Gómez. Of course, you have your admirers._

_Please, it is not-…_

_Fuck off. I was good for Brazil, right? And if we two weren’t assigned one room, you wouldn’t have even looked at me. Fuck off._

Manuel’s desperate sigh made both Jérôme and Robert both almost raise up on their toes.

 

_I will come to Mönchengladbach as soon as possible._

Jérôme’s eyes brightened up with hope.

 

_Don’t bother. I don’t want to see you._

Silence as Christoph hung up. Jérôme cursed out-loud, but Robert just sighed, dialing the other number and patting Jérôme’s back to sit down.

 

 _Hello?_ Pause. Robert sighed. The voice from the other side sounded sleepy. _Hello, who is it?_

_Mario Götze?_

_Mhm. And you are?_

_Hello, I am Robert Lewandowski._

Confused, Jérôme eyed Robert upside-down and reverse.

 

_Yes?_

_We are calling from Dortmund. You need to come here as soon as possible, to sign urgent documents regarding your change of address._

_I have already signed everything._

 

Robert rolled his eyes and Jérôme raised a concerned eyebrow, leaning closer (to hear the conversation, not to feel Robert’s skin suspiciously close to his, of course).

 

_Yeah, actually-…_

_Is this some plan?_

_Hm?_

_Marco. He is up to something, isn’t he?_

Robert went silent, smirking and winking at Jérôme, proud of himself (Jérôme, of course, disregarded the burning sensation in his chest upon this innocent wink.)

 

_Well, you got me. He wants you to go to Dortmund. Has something in mind._

_What exactly?_

_You know him better than I do. Told me it was a surprise._

_He kinda likes those._ Mario laughed and Robert produced a silent ‘whew’, to which Jérôme grinned. _When should I be in Dortmund?_

_This Sunday, is it alright?_

_We have a game. I will try my best to sneak after it and take the night plane._

_Will do._

_Where is the meeting?_

_His place._

_Count me in._

Mario chuckled before hanging up. Robert handed the phone to Jérôme.

 

‘You know what to do,’ Robert sighed, still smiling, and stood up, ‘Man, they don’t pay me enough for this shit. I have no idea who those freaky people are, yet I am helping you. And it is _still_ none of my business.’

 

Jérôme smirked, sticking out his tongue while concentrating on typing.

 

_Marco, it’s Mario, my phone is dead. Coming to Dortmund on Sunday, after the game. Your place. I miss you._

‘This is ridiculous,’ Jérôme shrugged, ‘I am like some dating agency, for God’s sake!’

 

‘Don’t mention Pep’s name in vain,’ Robert giggled and Jérôme puffed, ‘You’d be just fine, Jér. Although, not without my help, of course.’

 

‘Thank you.’

 

‘Nah, not enough,’ Robert’s mischievous smile sent a lump down Jérôme’s throat, ‘I would like my _thank you_ served later, after the successful mission. _Hot and spicy_.’

 

Jérôme gulped, hands shaking while the phone in his palm vibrated.

 

‘Won’t you check it?’ Robert kept smirking, to which Jérôme had to shake his head and sigh before looking down at his phone.

 

_Well, Sunny, not sure whether it’s the best time. Caro and I are trying to working it out again. Sunday is kinda busy for me. xx_

Jérôme threw his phone on the nearest sofa, shouting obscenities in frustration. Robert side-eyed the message and bit his lips.

 

‘Four out of the six couples I had to bring together are ending up in a disaster.’

 

‘Then we need Plan B.’

 

‘Which is?’

 

‘Bringing all of them together.’

 

‘No, not the party.’

 

‘Oh, yes, Jér,’ Robert smirked again, licking his lips at the rather helpless (and genuinely blushing now) Jérôme, ‘The dress-up party always brings out the truest feelings. And you, of all the people, should know that.’

 

Before Jérôme had the chance to open his mouth and respond, realising that, _yes_ , after all, Robert remembered something from _that_ unfortunate night, Robert had closed the gap between them and his breath was now hitting Jérôme’s nose. Robert smirked again, eyes picturing Jérôme’s facial features and landing on his lips. He grinned and looked back at his eyes.

 

‘Let’s party.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jérôme is closer than ever and Robert ruins everything. But no one could blame him, right?

Jérôme bit his lip and stuck his nose in the wardrobe, eyes shifting here and there in hope to find something interesting. All he found, however, was a duckling’s costume (it wasn’t even his and how it got here, he had no idea), which wouldn’t be particularly suiting with his wings.

 

‘Made up your mind?’ Jérôme turned around, opening his mouth to answer, but then saw Robert – in all his glory, dressed like a Disney prince, with all the armour and glamour, and,  _God forbid_ , turning-him-on demean _our_. Jérôme gulped (loudly, he might presume, judging by Robert’s smirk) as Robert approached him slowly, hands across his chest, ‘Hm, Jér? Everything alright?’

 

‘N-... Ye-eh-s?’ Jérôme coughed, ‘Yes, Robert, everything is alright. You look...’

 

‘Yes?’

 

‘Not-angelic, I guess?’

 

‘Ah, yes, those,’ Robert pointed at his hidden now wings and shrugged, ‘You forgot we have our one day off when we could be humans for 24 hours. I just hope you haven’t used yours.’

 

Jérôme followed Robert’s lips but didn’t quite follow the words coming off them (did it sound like music or...?).

 

‘Not really, no.’

 

‘Good. Great. Otherwise, it would have been strange – Disney princess with wings.’

 

Jérôme’s smile froze on his face as Robert snapped his fingers and a fluffy pink dress appeared right next to them.

 

‘No. You want me to wear... Nooooo!’ Jérôme violently shook his head and stepped back.

 

‘Don’t be such a whiner, Jér. As if you have something else there,’ Robert pointed at the wardrobe, ‘Except the duckling costume Kloppo wore last year.’

 

‘There’s no way I’ll be the-...’

 

‘The _what_?’ Robert continued smirking (did Jérôme mention he was sooo damn turned on?), ‘The _woman_?’

 

‘The _princess_.’

 

‘But you already are. Just the dress was missing,’ Robert licked his lips, ‘You know I can snap my fingers...’ the wings appeared once again on Robert’s back, ‘...and get that dress on you.’

 

‘You can snap your fingers and get those clothes _off_ me too,’ Jérôme’s tanned cheeks blushed on his own daring commentary. Robert bit his lips and his eyes followed Jérôme up and down.

 

‘Don’t want to waste my 24 hours now, sweetheart,’ Robert lifted his eyes up and met Jérôme’s, ‘You know the rules. We can feel certain _pleasures_ only when we take the human form.’

 

Jérôme was sure he let out a rather loud gasp, to which Robert smirked once again. Jérôme shifted his legs, trying to cover his now apparent... um... hard body parts.

 

‘Take your time, Jér, dress up,’ Robert winked while walking out of Jérôme’s room, ‘Make yourself pretty... _for me_.’

 

-

 

‘Out of all your brilliant ideas, this one surpasses everything,’ Erik rolled his eyes (not admitting he was secretly admiring the view) at the now grinning Mats.

 

‘No, why? For instance, Marco looks adorable in that gangsta costume.’

 

‘And you look ravishing with that bedsheet over you. What are you even? A laundry man?’

 

‘Greek God, isn’t it obvious?’ Mats tapped his abs, ‘This handsomeness is pure religion.’

 

‘Speaking of the Matsenism, your disciples seem like arriving already...’ Mesut joined the trio and chuckled when all of them turned around to see who was coming, and Mats’s cheeks got red.

 

‘I can’t believe he is here,’ Mats almost drowned himself in the fast gulping of the God-knows what cocktail in his hand. Nothing from his steady and firm behaviour a minute ago. Erik smirked at Mesut as both of them silently stepped back, leaving desperately insecure Mats alone... with Benedikt approaching him.

 

‘Oh, well, I thought it was a dress-up party, not a dress- _down_ one,’ Benedikt laughed wholeheartedly, arranging the tail of his costume. Mats smirked, desperate to hide his blush.

 

‘Cheshire cat?’

 

‘I even got whiskers,’ Benedikt made a _meow_ sound and Mats chuckled, handing him a cocktail. They got silent for a moment, until Benedikt’s cheeks started getting red as well, and his eyes involuntarily lingered all over Mats’s body, ‘You look... great.’

 

 _Never thought a cat costume would turn me on, but here I am_ thought Mats and coughed at his realisation, almost spitting out his drink.

 

‘Thanks, I guess. No one knows who I am, but-...’

 

‘Because you are just the usual self, Mats, I expected more creativity from you.’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘Greek God. You are always such,’ Benedikt pointed at Mats’s body and sighed loudly, ‘With that perfectly sculptured body of yours.’

 

Something hit (literally!) Mats at the back and he turned around to check but didn’t see a thing. Metres from him, Jérôme (that dress was too tight around his torso, how are they breathing with those corsets?) smiled victoriously upon sending his arrow straight at Mats’s back. Leaned forward, expecting the results.

 

Mats bit his lip, feeling sudden wave of confidence, and looked back at the blushing Benedikt.

 

‘Do you like it?’

 

‘What?’

 

‘My body.’

 

Benedikt stuttered a bit, ‘Well, I am jeal-...’ something hit him as well and he ouch-ed a bit before staring back at Mats, with lips curved in an ‘o’. _You are so beautiful like that, Jesus_ , was Mats’s first thought and he almost said it out loud before a drink being spilt all over Benedikt. Not that he minded seeing his friend (???) being wet... his shirt (better, _fur_ , in this ridiculous costume), of course, not-... yeah.

 

‘Fuck it. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it,’ Thomas furiously slammed his forehead with his palm and, cursing, continued his way.

 

‘It’ll soon dry up, it’s-...’ Benedikt dropped eyes when Mats involuntarily (not) started rubbing off the spot, ‘Mats, it’s ok, you don’t need to-...’

 

Mats lifted up his eyes and Benedikt saw the dimmed dark (oh, Jesus, he could melt in them) eyes staring back at him with something... _something_... he was screwed.

 

‘I want to.’

 

‘Huh?’ Benedikt felt his breath losing itself somewhere in his lungs. Mats smirked as his tongue travelled over his lower lip. He moved up, his breath tickling Benedikt’s earlobe.

 

‘I want to take it... _off_. All of it. All of _you_. Would you let me?’

 

Benedikt was lost, he felt his head dizzy and his own voice screaming somewhere inside him.

 

‘Y-... yes,’ Mats only nodded with a smirk, taking Benedikt’s hand and crossing the apartment to a lonesome room. Jérôme took out his cupidphone, prepared for his first success, but was interrupted by a sharp voice near him.

 

‘Go away, Mesut, sod off!’ Sami – dressed as a pirate – pushed Mesut away, and lost his balance. Mesut snorted and offered him yet another helping hand, but Sami puffed, ‘Go to your precious London and to your God-like Giroud, and leave me alone!’

 

‘Sa-...’ but before even finishing himself, Mesut received a strong punch right at his nose. He staggered a bit and fell on the table. There was blood flowing from his nostrils and Mesut’s eyes widened (if that was possible even more) at the sight. Next thing he knew was a strong body lifting him up and making him sit on a chair.

 

‘Oh, Mesut, I am so-... I am so sorry, I just... Oh, Mes...’ Sami’s drunken mind worked at full (headache) speed, as he snuggled closer to Mesut, taking both his hands in his, and uncontrollably sobbing. Mesut sniffed, trying to catch a breath.

 

‘I am drunk.’

 

‘Yes, you are,’ Mesut moved back, separating himself from Sami. He felt a sharp pain at his back, ‘Fuck off, Sami, what are you-...’

 

But when he looked down, all he saw was Sami’s dark and teary eyes looking up at him with regret and hope. Mesut smiled, his face a bloody mess, and his fingers ruffled Sami’s hair.

 

‘You deserve a sobering slap,’ Sami grinned at Mesut’s frowning face and offered his cheek. Mesut smiled (how could he ever be angry at Sami?) and faked he was about to slap him. Jérôme stuck out his tongue, measuring his exact actions. The second when Mesut gently slapped Sami’s back, Jérôme hit it with his arrow.

 

‘Ouch!’

 

‘Don’t complain, I could’ve hit you harder.’

 

‘And I would’ve forgiven you everything,’ Sami’s eyes melted in a smile. Mesut bit his lip as they kept silent.

 

‘I am sorry, Sami. That was the only costume I could think of.’

 

‘Dressed like a Frenchman, with the baguette and the moustaches. It suits you, although I still hate Giroud,’ they both laughed. Sami stretched his hand and tried wiping off some of the already parched blood on Mesut’s face.

 

‘I want to get out of here,’ Mesut’s cheeks blushed as he looked back at Sami, ‘Just the two of us. We could do whatever you-...’

 

Sami interrupted Mesut with his finger on Mesut’s lips, then lifted himself up a bit and closed his eyes before-...

 

Fire alarm. What, the hell?

 

Jérôme looked around as all his couples – all the couples he was meant to bring together – cursed and ran out of Mats’s apartment. _Including_ Mats and Benedikt who just got private. What was worse, Robert was nowhere to be seen. Jérôme hesitated whether to let on his wings but someone was faster, as his mouth was covered and he was basically dragged up the stairs before being pushed in a rather dark room.

 

‘Shhhh...’ someone approached him but he couldn’t see the silhouette in the darkness. Two strong hands pushed Jérôme’s cupidphone away and the next thing he felt was soft lips over his and an obsessive aroma and... His eyes widened up as he recognised the small chuckle leaving the other person’s throat. With all his strength, Jérôme pulled back.

 

‘Are you crazy?’ the person laughed, ‘Robert, that’s not a game. I was so close to bringing them together! At least two of the couples! And you ruined everything!’

 

‘Is it so important, really? Come on, you’ve always looked at the missions the simplest way. Nothing is as serious as Pep and Jogi make it sound.’

 

‘This mission is important, okay?’ Jérôme shook his head, trying his best not to think about what happened just seconds ago, ‘I may...’

 

‘You may lose your Cupid status.’

 

‘Exactly.’

 

‘And?’

 

Jérôme stood silent for a second, but Robert approached him again. Robert’s palm gently stroked Jérôme’s cheek and the latter one blushed.

 

‘I’ve waited years, Jér. At that party... When you pressed your forehead at mine... We were different, you and I, we were at rival Cupid teams, we were supposed to hate each other. But when you were frustrated and pressed your forehead at mine, I lost it. I just saw something in your eyes, and it was not hatred.’

 

‘Ro-...’

 

‘You told me you’d do things to me, remember?’ Jérôme gulped and Robert smiled. Their foreheads pressed at each other as Robert cupped Jérôme’s face, ‘When I transferred to Pep’s Cupid team, I longed so much for you to notice me. And when you finally did and asked me to help you... I saw my chance.’

 

‘Of?’

 

‘Of getting what I want.’

 

Jérôme smiled slightly, feeling the slight peck of Robert’s lips on his.

 

‘You know very well those people are head over heels with each other. And with or without your help, they would soon declare their love. You, however...’

 

Jérôme took a deep breath and blinked several times, harshly biting his lips.

 

‘You’d lose your Cupid status as well.’

 

‘I would win another thing, though,’ Robert’s hands travelled down and grabbed Jérôme’s waist, pulling him closer to himself. Their foreheads pressed at each other again and they both smiled, ‘ _You_.’

 

-

 

_That was your initial plan, wasn’t it?_

Pep laughed at the text he just got and showed it to Jogi, who just shrugged and shook his head.

 

_Star-crossed lovers are really my thing._

_Wanna bet on which of the rest couples would be first?_

Pep smirked. Betting with Kloppo was one of the joys in his simple (and rather frustrating) life.

 

_My bets on Podolski and Schweinsteiger._

_Nah, Pep. For my good old times, Reus and Götze._

_We are on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next (and last) chapter brings all the couples together, so it would compensate the shortness of this one. (I hope.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is meant to be, simply happens. With or without love missions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. That's it, folks. I hope you liked it at least a bit. Personally, though not a favourite, I had lots of fun writing it. Kisses and stay positive! x

With his hands behind his back, Pep was walking back and forth, stopping every now and then and taking a deep breath, shaking his head and clicking his tongue, before starting to walk again. Jérôme bit his lip and shot a quick glance at the confidently grinning Robert, who used the moment of the other Cupid’s insecurity to interlace their fingers. Jérôme let out a shaken sigh.

 

‘So, what we have here...’ Klopp interrupted Pep’s train of thoughts (and received an over-exaggerated death glare from him), tapping on his notebook, ‘Failed dress-up party. Failed mission. _Six_ failed missions.’

 

‘I can explain...’

 

‘What exactly? That you were about to...’ Pep pointed at Jérôme, then at Robert, then vice versa, then sighed loudly, ‘Didn’t expect it from you two.’

 

‘But Robert...’

 

‘It was all my fault, guys. Take it easy,’ Robert shared a blinding smile, to which both Klopp and Pep rolled their eyes.

 

‘You are fully aware that even I can’t be kind to you, right?’ Klopp crossed his arms, ‘Jogi’s rules are Jogi’s rules. Meaning, your wings and Cupid status would be-...’

 

‘But I’ll do it! I’ll bring all of them together! And I won’t-...’

 

‘Sh, Jérôme, enough,’ Jogi rushed in the room and shook his head, directing Jérôme to sit back on the couch, ‘What is done is done now and there is no way back. You two no longer have the Cupid status. But just because Kloppo was _kind enough_ to show some compassion for you both, and Pep was _stupid enough_ to give you an already resolved mission, cutting your Cupid status would be the only punishment you will receive.’

 

‘Meaning, you’d get back to Earth and would live happily ever after in some Bavarian mansion, with all your goats and sheep, farming around,’ Klopp grinned and Jérôme opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by the rather enthusiastic Robert.

 

‘I’d love a few horses here and there too.’

 

‘Which reminds me of...’ Pep tapped at the large screen on the wall in front of them, now showing the confused (when was he not such?) Thomas Müller.

 

‘I suggest we sit back and enjoy this,’ Robert tried snapping his fingers, but nothing appeared, and he just sighed desperately. Klopp chuckled and snapped with his, handing popcorn to all five of them, ‘Ah, yes. Any bets?’

 

Pep and Klopp laughed quietly before answering. Robert grinned, ‘I will bet on Neuer and Kramer, then. Heard Neuer daydreaming about Kramer with my own ears, I swear. Jér?’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘Any bets, _kochanie_?’

 

‘Um...’ Jérôme blushed once again and bit his lower lip, ‘I am as confused as Thomas is right now, I’d pass.’

 

‘Guess I am betting on Hummels and Höwedes, then,’ Jogi coughed, acting as nonchalantly as possible.

 

-

 

‘Thomas!’ Miroslav put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder and the younger boy turned around, gulping rather loudly, before grinning from one ear to the other, ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been?’

 

‘Ah, well...’

 

‘Miroslav Klose, the one and only,’ Mario Gómez somehow decided to interrupt the calm dialogue, ‘innocently’ embracing Thomas’s waist, ‘We two could’ve met in Italy, but... Such pitiful circumstances.’

 

‘How’s your injury?’ Miroslav’s tone was cold and bitter, his eyes desperately trying not to fall on Mario’s hand across Thomas. Miserably failing at this, one might add.

 

‘Much better. Could’ve been even wonderful if Thomas was in Italy with me, but, here we are now.’

 

Miroslav bit the inside of his cheek and smiled through teeth, ‘I see you’re getting alone quite well, indeed.’

 

‘Opa, I-...’

 

‘No, Thomas, don’t,’ Miroslav shed a bittersweet smile at the younger man and nodded understandingly, ‘I get the hint. I wish you two the best of times. Good luck with your recovery, Mario, I hope it’s sooner than expected.’

 

Thomas freed himself from Mario’s embrace and ran after Miroslav, hugging him from behind and resting his chin on the older man’s shoulder. Miroslav smiled sadly, putting his hands on Thomas’s which were now massaging his chest.

 

‘Don’t be mad at me, Miro. You know I’ll always love you, right?’

 

‘I know, Thomas, don’t worry,’ he turned around to face the pouty face of the younger player. Smiled and cupped his face, pressing their foreheads at each other, ‘Hey, hey, don’t be sad. It is the logical thing to do. I retired from the national team, Mario will still be there every now and then. He is young and beautiful, and you deserve-...’

 

‘I may deserve everyone, but I don’t deserve _you_ , Miro,’ Thomas pouted even more, interrupting the other one, ‘You are so brilliant and perfect – well, no one is perfect, except you – and you are just fantastic, and I don’t know a lot of adjectives – why don’t I know a lot of adjectives? – but you are everything, and I love you.’

 

Miroslav smiled again and pecked Thomas’s lips softly with his own. Thomas groaned when Miroslav stepped back.

 

‘Don’t you believe me when I say I love you? Do you want me to show it to you?’

 

‘Thomas.’

 

‘Because I can. I can-...’

 

‘Thomas.’

 

‘I will buy you a horse. No, better, I will give you my favourite horse, and-...’

 

‘Thomas,’ Miroslav raised his voice, ‘Go to him.’

 

‘I don’t want to.’

 

‘But you _do_ ,’ Thomas shrugged at Miro’s obvious statement, ‘Go to him and love him and be happy with what you have.’

 

‘We didn’t have lots of time together, didn’t we, Opa?’

 

‘It was enough for the old man, Thomas,’ Miroslav smiled again, trying his best to hold his tears back, ‘Go.’

 

Thomas grinned in an open-mouthed smile and a chuckle before quickly kissing Miroslav, ‘I will always love you, Miro, don’t forget that.’

 

Miroslav nodded as Thomas ran away – presumably, to the kindly smiling at him Mario, ‘But not as much as I will, Thomas.’

 

‘Hey!’ Thomas hugged Mario tight and the other one faked a cough, to which Thomas laughed, ‘I really missed you. Come to Germany more often.’

 

‘Is that what you told Klose too?’

 

‘That’s another thing.’

 

‘I know,’ they both paused (unusual thing for Thomas, though), ‘Will you ever see something in me, Thomas? Like you saw in Miroslav?’

 

‘I already am, Mario.’

 

‘Will you ever-...’ Mario gulped and his bright eyes looked directly at Thomas’s wide ones, ‘Will you ever _feel_ something for me?’

 

Thomas shrugged, suppressing his laughter, ‘Maybe. If you try more.’

 

Mario grinned hesitantly before hugging Thomas’s again, ‘Thank you.’

 

‘No worries,’ Thomas thought for a second, ‘Maybe tonight you’d even get to share your bed with me?’

 

Mario’s breath stopped somewhere inside his lungs, ‘Tho-...’

 

‘But careful, though,’ Thomas quickly bit Mario’s earlobe, ‘I am _dangerous_.’

 

-

 

Lukas smiled at Bastian across the room and the other man blushed, not even trying to hide it. They both chuckled before approaching each other.

 

‘How is my hase?’

 

‘Will you _ever_ stop that?’ Lukas laughed when Bastian teased him, ‘Well, ok, I wrote it but I meant it.’

 

‘I am sure you did.’

 

‘I mean everything I say, Basti.’

 

‘Such as?’

 

‘Well...’ Lukas fidgeted the drink in his hand, ‘Such as every compliment I throw at you.’

 

‘Hm...’ Bastian bit his lip and looked at the floor, ‘I want to tell you something, Luki. I-... I broke up with Sarah.’

 

‘Saw the pictures with Ivanovic, yes.’

 

‘Yes... No. I mean... This is something else,’ Bastian looked up at Lukas, who was smiling quite understandingly, ‘I am not with her, though. I am with neither of them.’

 

‘You are not?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘I though you two with Sarah were inseparable.’

 

‘She thinks _you_ and I are inseparable.’

 

‘That we are.’

 

‘Not in the way I would want it, though,’ Bastian’s quick response took Lukas off-guard and now it was his time to blush and look at the floor. Bastian smiled, ‘See? I say a lot of things too. And meaning every bit of them.’

 

‘Basti...’ Lukas carefully lifted his eyes back at the other man, ‘Why did you break up with Sarah?’

 

‘Why are you divorcing Monica?’

 

Lukas shrugged, ‘Because-...’

 

‘Yes?’

 

‘Because-...’ silence. Lukas waved with his hands, ‘Fuck it. Because I am in love with someone else. There, I said it.’

 

‘So am I.’

 

‘Huh? Who is this person? I mean... If you want to share, no pressure, I just-... Yes,’ Lukas was terribly red now, desperately looking around, trying his best not to focus on the smiling Bastian.

 

‘I’ve known the person for quite some time, may I say. Realised I was in love this summer, though.’

 

‘Aha...’ this time Lukas’s favourite exclamation came out as a pensive whisper, ‘Told them already?’

 

‘N-... No, not really. Not sure how they’d react.’

 

‘I am sure they would be flattered! Come on, how is it possible to reject you? Everyone loves you! _I_ love you!’

 

Bastian laughed at Lukas confession, ‘Do you?’

 

‘I mean-...’

 

‘I love you too, Luki.’

 

‘Yeah, that.’

 

‘No, I _mean_ it. I love you,’ Bastian stepped forward and took Lukas’s hands in his. Lukas’s eyes widened as Bastian drew circles over his knuckles. Next thing was Bastian’s fingers travelling over Lukas’s arms and then brushing his hair. Lukas hesitantly lifted his eyes up and met the smiling Bastian ones, ‘As in... _I am in love with you, Lukas Podolski_.’

 

‘You’re kidding, right? You love to joke, I know y-...’ but Lukas was stopped by Bastian’s wet lips on his own and the persistent tongue trying to work its way through. Lukas moaned and opened his mouth, letting Bastian’s tongue battle with his own, closing his eyes. Bastian, in turn, did not close his. He wanted to remember this moment, he wanted his memory to relive it from now on, he wanted to see Lukas’s eyelashes fluttering in front of him. Bastian smiled and broke the kiss. Lukas slowly opened his eyes – his pupils dilated – and panted at Bastian.

 

‘I mean everything I do, you know that?’

 

‘I-...’ Lukas took a deep breath, ‘I am not sure I got it, though. Care to repeat?’

 

-

 

‘So.’

 

‘So,’ Mesut bit his lip and lifted his eyes up at Sami. The other man nodded.

 

‘Back to London, huh?’

 

‘Send your greetings to everyone in Madrid, don’t forget.’

 

‘Will do, yes. Certainly,’ Sami waved at Mesut, watching him open the car’s door and arranging himself inside. Something inside of him, however, crashed, ‘Mes?’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘They miss you, though. The guys. The team, I mean. They all miss you.’

 

‘I miss them too, Sami. I thought of visiting, but it still hurts, and... Maybe it’s better some time to pass, I don’t know.’

 

Sami nodded once again and leaned forward, ‘The thing is... With this injury, I started thinking about lots of things and-...’

 

Mesut lifted his eyes up once again and Sami found himself losing his breath.

 

‘You could come to London.’

 

‘That’s not what I was going to say.’

 

‘I miss you too, Sami,’ Mesut went out of the car and smiled at (the panicked now) Sami, ‘I miss you way too much. So much, that Per started mocking me.’

 

Sami grinned, ‘Did he? Same with me. Cristiano even started calling me by your nickname.’

 

‘I want it to be as it was before.’

 

‘I want it to be something more, Mes. Always wanted,’ Sami shrugged and sighed, ‘But, the coward I am, I only have the Mannschaft now.’

 

‘Well, if you ask politely...’ Mesut chuckled and Sami smiled, placing a quick kiss on Mesut’s pink cheek, ‘Will count this one too.’

 

‘Wouldn’t be Mandy jealous a bit?’

 

‘I am about to ask the same about Lena, but I figured out I am much more jealous than she would ever be,’ both of them laughed and Sami sighed before tightly embracing Mesut.

 

‘I don’t know what my future holds, but-...’

 

‘You are holding _me_ for know,’ Mesut kissed Sami’s neck and let his lips stay a bit longer there, sending a shiver up and down Sami’s spine. Turned around to give him a quick kiss on the lips before hugging him again and whispering in his ear, ‘And that’s enough for me. Really is.’

 

-

 

Mats took a step forward and Benedikt took a step backward. And again, and again, and again, until the back of Benedikt’s knees hit the bed and he stumbled, falling back. Mats laughed, to which Benedikt blushed strongly and covered his face with his palms. Mats lied on top of Benedikt, his knees around the other man’s body. He chuckled again and took Benedikt’s hands off his face, gently putting them aside. Mats’s fingers travelled all over Benedikt’s face, soon to be replaced by his lips. Benedikt moaned quietly when Mats sucked on his Adam apple.

 

‘You are so beautiful like this, Benni,’ Mats lips reached the other man’s pulse point and sucked in, leaving a certain hickey there, ‘Gosh, so beautiful...’

 

‘Mats, isn’t this...’ Benedikt bit his lip when Mats lifted himself up and looked him directly in the eyes, ‘Aren’t we being too hasty?’

 

‘Do you think we are?’ Mats’s teasing hands were already unclasping Benedikt’s belt, ‘Tell me.’

 

‘We-eh-eh-ll...’ Benedikt instinctively lifted his hips up, allowing Mats to slowly take his jeans off, ‘I just... I want this, but...’

 

‘But?’

 

‘I am scared.’

 

‘Of what, _liebe_?’ Mats smirked as his hands massaged Benedikt’s thighs. Benedikt looked him directly in the eyes once again.

 

‘Never done it with-...’

 

‘Shhhh...’ Mats leaned forward and bit Benedikt’s lips one by one. He half-sat on Benedikt’s lap, shuffling a bit, causing another moan to escape Benedikt’s mouth, ‘I will do most of the things here. You enjoy yourself.’

 

‘Mats, I am not sure this is-... Fuck!’ Benedikt was interrupted by Mats’s rolling hips on his crotch.

 

‘You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about that,’ Mats giggled at Benedikt’s attempt to formulate a sentence, so decided to end his torture with a deep and strong kiss.

 

-

 

_Here he is_ , thought Manuel and snorted, _I can just stretch my hand and embrace him and..._

 

‘Don’t you even think about it,’ without turning around, Christoph scolded Manuel, ‘I am still mad at you.’

 

‘It would have been a bit better if I knew the actual reason.’

 

‘You are using me.’

 

‘No such thing.’

 

Christoph finally turned around, only to face the innocently smiling Manuel.

 

‘Fine,’ Christoph’s voice trembled a bit and he waved with his hands, ‘Tell me there is nothing between you and Lahm.’

 

‘There is _absolutely_ nothing between me and Lahm,’ Christoph opened his mouth to continue but Manuel interrupted him, ‘Or between _any_ of the Bayern players and myself.’

 

‘What a professional liar you are, Manuel Neuer!’ Christoph clicked his tongue.

 

‘Nothing else you want me to say?’ Manuel’s cheeky smile confused Christoph for awhile but he coughed to gain back his confidence and stood proud.

 

‘Actually, I do,’ he smirked and Manuel faked a surprised face, ‘Tell me what happened between us two in Brazil.’

 

‘You want the details?’

 

‘Your choice.’

 

Manuel smirked, ‘We shared a room, which got me to see you walking out of the bathroom with only a towel around your waist. Which, of course, got me wondering what’s under it. And which, of course, got me thinking about how I would spoil you and-...’

 

‘Manuel!’

 

Manuel laughed at the blushing Christoph and stretched a hand at him, grabbing his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Christoph was stubborn initially but then responded, deepening the kiss and even moaning in it, his fingers playing with the hem of Manuel’s shirt.

 

‘I don’t know, Manu,’ _ah, his usual self, finally_ , was Manuel’s first thought when Christoph broke the kiss and spoke, ‘I am inexperienced in those things and I guess I am just jealous. Because I kinda like you. _A lot_.’

 

Christoph’s shining eyes met Manuel’s just inches away and Manuel’s heart (never failing him) skipped a beat. _The most beautiful eyes in the world, shining just for me_ , thought Manuel before kissing Christoph once again.

 

‘What should I say about your girlfriend, then? Even going around and babbling about the necklace she gave you and how it’s your talisman?’

 

Christoph laughed and rested his chin at the crook of Manuel’s neck, shrugging, ‘Would have been terrible to say at the press-conference that my greatest talisman are Manuel Neuer’s boxers which I always wear during tough matches.’

 

Manuel chuckled and brushed Christoph’s blond hair, to which the younger man purred. Manuel couldn’t resist placing a kiss at his temple, ‘You have no reason to be jealous, Chris. I am all yours.’

 

‘Didn’t hear you.’

 

Manuel smiled, ‘I am all yours, blue eyes. You got me.’

 

‘Getting the great Manuel Neuer is quite an achievement, I have to say.’

 

They both chuckled.

 

-

 

‘Well, this is awkward,’ Marco nervously bit his lips (Mario noticed there were some blood drops on them), ‘I-... Well, it didn’t quite work out with Caro.’

 

‘Sorry to hear that.’

 

‘Yeah.’

 

They both stood silent and Marco decided to take the closest beer bottle and to quickly gulp it down. Mario was nervously walking around. Spotted the playstation nearby and pointed it at Marco.

 

‘Wanna play?’

 

Marco just nodded silently and took the game controller. They chose Borussia and Bayern, respectively, and were quiet for the first minutes. Until Marco finally scored a goal.

 

‘Ahhhh, Marco Reus, Jungeeeee!’ he threw his hands up in the air and Mario chuckled at the sight. Marco blushed and sat back on the floor, ‘Sorry. Um... Yes, 1-0. Take that.’

 

Mario smiled at the anxious Marco, who was now making weird motions with his lips, trying to concentrate on the game. All that staring at Marco, however, resulted in another goal for Borussia. Marco reacted the same way, but this time even stood up and jumped around, celebrating.

 

‘2-0, Sunny. The Bavarians suck even on PS games!’

 

Mario smirked and looked at the controller in his hands before lifting his eyes back at the grinning Marco.

 

‘I will win, Reus, remember my word.’

 

‘Yeah, yeah, of course. You always do, right?’ Marco waved nonchalantly with his hand and sat back, taking his controller, ‘You _won’t_.’

 

‘I will. And if I win-...’

 

‘I will kiss you.’

 

‘What?’ Mario’s eyes almost escaped off his orbits. Marco threw a quick glance at the blushing Mario and half-crooked a smile.

 

‘What you heard, Sunny. Now, work out your sweet little ass, and show me what you are capable of.’

 

The next virtual half-time was spent in some profanities and loud exclamations. There were three minutes left and a free-kick for Bayern. Mario was almost on his toes, leaning forward. Three, two, one, aaaaaand goal! 3-2 for Bayern. Mario swayed left and right, back and forth, laughing loudly when the final whistle was blown.

 

‘I told you I would w-...’ he shut up when Marco literally grabbed his face and kissed it with all his strength, his hands travelling up and down the other man’s bubble cheeks and neck. Finally, he broke the kiss and smiled at the confused Mario.

 

‘I would win the next game, though,’ Marco stood up, ‘Taking another beer, some pretzels for you, and I am back to kick your ass.’

 

‘Marco-...’

 

‘Don’t _Marco_ me. Better prepare yourself mentally for the loss you’re going to suffer,’ Marco headed for the kitchen but Mario was faster, jumping up and running after him, hugging him from behind. Marco smiled when Mario rested his head on his back.

 

‘You really did kiss me.’

 

‘Yes, I did.’

 

‘I wish I would have kissed you first,’ at this, Marco turned around to face Mario, and cupped his face once again. Half-crooked another smile.

 

‘There are many _first_ things still left for us to do, Sunny.’

 

Mario got red at Marco’s hint and buried his face in the other man’s collarbone. Marco laughed quietly and ran his fingers through Mario’s hair, then kissed it.

 

‘Thank you, Marco.’

 

‘It was just about time, Mario.’

 

‘Love you,’ Mario mumbled at Marco’s neck and Marco grinned stupidly.

 

‘Love you too, Sunny.’

 

-

 

Robert smiled at Jérôme when the two of them happened to be left in a large house somewhere (in Bavaria, presumably), at the snap of Jogi’s fingers.

 

‘See? I told you everything will be alright at the end. Even without is interfering or organising some dress-up parties.’

 

‘This doesn’t stop me from hating you.’

 

‘Oh, but you don’t...’ Robert smirked mischievously and hugged Jérôme by the waist, quickly kissing his forehead.

 

‘It’s pure luck Pep let us have some missions every now and then, though. I guess, being humans and working as matchmakers was just meant to be.’

 

‘Will you miss me when I take a mission and go to Poland?’

 

‘Will do my best to weaken all your powers and make your stay there miserable.’

 

Robert smiled and brushed Jérôme’s lips with his own, extracting a sigh from the other man.

 

‘At the end I was right, after all,’ Robert grinned, ‘What is meant to be, simply happens.’

 

Jérôme nodded, then shrugged, ‘I guess so. _With or without love missions._ ’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I need to clarify some things, though.  
> \- Basti and Ana Ivanovic: http://pbs.twimg.com/media/BxNtz42IYAEsiH2.jpg:large  
> \- Christoph and his 'talisman': https://38.media.tumblr.com/b86a331966b83ca48c0d35f1d5948621/tumblr_nd6eqlegBg1toyll2o1_500.jpg ('It’s from my girlfriend and I am wearing it for good luck. It symbolises love and fortune. Our initials are engraved.') https://38.media.tumblr.com/c8144c2c9fa5f7fe7ff4b43b0500a863/tumblr_nd6mtkUGha1t24g9ro1_1280.jpg  
> \- Marco Reus playing FIFA and exclaiming 'Jungeeeee' when scoring a goal: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zQeG7zs7I4  
> \- The final dialogue between Robert and Jerome is based on this: http://jerome-boateng.tumblr.com/post/99418340626


End file.
